Bar Belle: Confessions on a dance floor

A few weekends ago, my drunk ass ended up on a dance floor, shaking, contorting and moon-walking between sweaty bodies. I try to avoid dance floors at all cost — not because I’m above exercising while drinking, but because I have no rhythm. Nada. My dance repertoire consists of The Robot; some New Kids on the Block synchronized arm movements; those stupid dances from the ’90s where you pretend like you’re grocery shopping or fishing; and a few fist-pumps and jigs I learned from “Jersey Shore” and “Lord of the Dance.” When I put those together and attempt to not spill my drink, I make Elaine from “Seinfeld” look like Michael Jackson. It’s not pretty, and it should be illegal in at least 24 states.

It’s no wonder nobody approached me to dance, especially after I knocked the beer out of my hand while dry-humping air to “Call Me Maybe.” I’ve never been cool, so why start now? Here’s a list of observations I learned on the dance floor …

Doing The Robot automatically puts your age above 30.

Sweat is sexy and slippery.

Pop music gets better the more you drink.

Grinding can be substituted for “Hello.”

Don’t close your eyes, it makes you look pervy.

The fist pump can be employed anytime your hands are free.

Loving, touching, squeezing another’s boo is not cool, even if they touched you first.

Dry humping is legal as long as rap is playing.

Grinding can be substituted for “Do you wanna dance?”

Use the ’90s shopping-cart/sprinkler dancing sparingly.

Bend at the knees if you’re going for the Jersey Turnpike.

It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back, but even harder with a horny frat boy on your bumper. Shake them both off.

Between songs and during awkward moments, it’s OK to break out boy-band moves.

Grinding can be substituted for “I think you’re cute. Do you wanna go out sometime when we’re not humping on this stage?”

Beware of the Running Man if the floor is wet.

Second base is harder to get to than third.

Being the meat in a sandwich is never bad.

Grinding can be substituted for “You’ll do for now.”

Pressing against someone is hot, pressing against someone up against a wall is hotter.

Sex in the air isn’t just a Rihanna song.

Grinding can be substituted for “Call me, maybe.”

Bar of the Week
If you’ve spent any time at Joe’s Older Than Dirt (8131 New Lagrange Road,, you’d never know you’re hanging out with an old dude — Joe’s is going on 75 years as a Lyndon neighborhood tavern. And while Joe is longer around in human form (the establishment is believed to be haunted), he’s left a fun space to eat, drink and be merry inside or out. Its large, mostly covered patio is heaven for smokers, who can even take in a game of pool or corn hole outdoors. The $2 pint special packs the front bar on Mondays, while karaoke brings ’em in Tuesdays and Thursdays. As you might remember, Joe’s won LEO’s coldest beer contest, clocking in at 29.9° from the Coors Light tap. Order some cheese fries and call it an evening.

Drunk Texts of the Week
I got teabagged by a dangling participle
I thought u were a sex-change patient, you thought i was a cancer patient
I need some employment in my gap
I just tasted a rainbow and it wasnt a skittle

Send your drunk texts to [email protected]. My blog is at Word.